What to do on St. Patrick’s Day at Royal Holloway
Even if you’re as Celtic as Mel Gibson and stuck in Surrey
Take it from someone who’s of Irish ancestry: we may go hard 365 days a year, but one day when this hits new heights is St. Patrick’s Day. It’s the one day a year when everyone can whip out their inner thirty-third Irish blood (or at least lie about it, I don’t really give a damn if you’ve never even been) and partake in the great Celtic sport of binge drinking. If you do choose to take the day as the brilliant excuse to drink, I’d like to offer some pearls of wisdom for those baffled about how to do it properly.
Use the right poison
You have two options: Guinness or whiskey, and on the whiskey front nothing but authentic will do (my personal recommendation is Jameson). Jack Daniels and Southern Comfort are whiskeys that got traumatised crossing the Atlantic: they pissed themselves and turned into liquors. They don’t count. At all.
If you can’t take the heat get out the kitchen
If you ever wondered what your level of alcohol tolerance is, well, today’s the day to find out. Irish coffees are a beautiful way to get through your lectures and Irish car bombs are just good if you feel like blacking out (we’ve all been there sister). But I suggest not stepping outside if you don’t want to drink. Spoilsport.
As for the rest of us, I’ll see you at the beginning of an epic bar crawl beginning at one of Egham’s fine overpriced establishments then ending at A&E (you never know, we might even see an actual Irishmen there).
Gan tae the pub
Why would you go anywhere else? Ever? Granted Egham isn’t a thriving hot-bed of (cheap) pubs but hey, I won’t judge you for pre-ing a village bar crawl. (On a serious note, someone please tell me why Guinness is so expensive down here, inebriation is a basic human right.)
PLEASE DO NOT GO TO A CLUB: raves are as uncharacteristically Irish as living past 70. Anyone who goes to Meds is an uncultured savage.
All green everything
Fuck it most shades of green have never flattered anyone, especially Celtic completions, but if you’re suddenly feeling the urge to don that fluorescent green “kiss me I’m Irish” t-shirt I find self-confidence can be acquired through a Belfast car-bomb (the Guinness based cocktail, I am not endorsing terrorism). In-fact just go raid Primark of the most hideous green items you can find, Go forth and blind the barmaids at monkeys.
Essentially anyone can celebrate St Patrick’s day, just do it right. Of course if we were truly all middle aged Irishmen we’d be in a village pub lock-in doing the Caleigh singing The Irish Rover until about 6am, when we’d trundle back to our disapproving wives who would tell us we need to have a talk about our drinking. So Lá fhéile Pádraig sona dhuit! And if you do pull that barmaid in fluorescent green, Sláinte!